Everybody's Fool
by ToryTigress92
Summary: It's been five months since Sherlock's 'death', but it's time for Mycroft and Jessica to discover exactly what happened that tragic day on St Barts rooftop.
1. Chapter 1

Everybody's Fool

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><p>Jessica Holmes was pregnant.<p>

Being pregnant had a number of advantages. One, Mycroft doted on her like she was the bloody Queen of England, two, people stood up on the bus and the tube to let her sit down and three, she felt a slight twinge of amusement every time she caught 'Anthea's envious glare on her wedding ring.

Jessica hated being pregnant. One, Mycroft, nor his minions, would leave her bloody well alone. _**Ever**_. Two, people giving her their seat made her want to whack their heads against a wall until they realised she was perfectly capable of standing and was not an invalid, even with what felt like the equivalent of a couple of boulders strapped to her chest, thank you very much, and three….well, teasing 'Anthea' was just becoming boring.

She supposed she should have been grateful that she hadn't suffered too badly with the morning sickness, or tiredness. She was as active as ever.

* * *

><p>That was half the problem. Mycroft pretty much refused to let her out of the house without a sodding bodyguard, nor was she allowed to go out unless Mycroft was with her. It was like she was carrying the Messiah, for goodness' sake.<p>

Although, she had got her revenge for his zealous over protectiveness, as she remembered with an evil grin. Call her childish, but it had been immensely satisfying.

Of course, she knew the dangers now she was Mycroft's wife. Something like that couldn't be hidden, not with his role in the government, and it would only make her a target.

A highly trained, extremely dangerous, heavily pregnant target. Oddly, Jessica didn't view that last as a negative. She had her hormones to help her destroy any attacker, should they dare come calling.

It also made her work both more difficult and more intriguing. More exhilarating.

She was off field-work, but she noticed the intelligence bigwigs were on their toes around her, careful in their mannerisms and conversation, as if they now knew for certain she was Mycroft's own little set of eyes and ears within MI6 and MI5. She had to be sneakier, quieter…not exactly easy with a baby bump, but it made her work more of a challenge.

But it also meant that she now had access to circles that had been closed off before. She had met the **Queen** for goodness' sake, and watching Mycroft greet her like an old friend had been both amusing and surreal. Mycroft relied on her to field gossip between the wives of the most powerful men in the country, much as she hated it, to keep her ears open and unobtrusively plant ideas and thoughts in the other women's heads.

But that also entailed actually having to sit there and listen to the mindless ninnies twitter on about this and that, having to sift through the mind-numbingly boring gossip about who was marrying who, and what happened at Lord someone's party last month….it drove her mad.

* * *

><p>Unfortunately, that night was to be another such night, of being stuck with the wives, enduring countless enquiries about baby names and horror stories about childbirth at a soiree at No 10, Downing Street.<p>

She'd had one; she knew what to expect…not that they knew that, of course. Mycroft had made sure to bury her past entirely, beyond recall. It might have made her sad, but it wasn't like her memories had disappeared along with her past. She would never forget Jamie and Adam, never forget what happened to them, and that only made her work more important. Never again would anyone she loved be harmed, man or child.

And that included her obstinate, ice statue of a husband.

That night, as Jessica sat at her vanity, half-heartedly fiddling with her long, auburn hair, she frowned at her reflection, annoyingly perfect even if she said so herself. Pregnancy had lent her some blush in her pale cheeks, her hair thick and lustrous, her body adapted well to carrying a child again. The blue, off-shoulder dress Mycroft had insisted she wear to this blasted party didn't exactly hide her rounded stomach but it hugged the rest of her to perfection. Apparently Mycroft's ability to command the best tailors in London also ran to couturiers. Was nothing beyond that man?

Speaking of which, her husband eyed her darkly from across their bedroom. "Do try to smile tonight, Jessica. One would think you didn't like these little parties the Prime Minister's wife organises…" he breathed quietly. Jessica's eyes narrowed at him in the mirror.

"Mycroft, just because my waistline has disappeared, that doesn't mean my aim has," she retorted. "I assure you, that has never been better."

"I know," he sighed, quietly. "I still have goose feathers stuck in my suit from that last volley of pillows aimed at my head."

"Well, considered yourself fully warned," she threw her hair over one shoulder, fixing some small, subtly elegant diamond drops to her ears. She never liked ostentatious jewellery, and the gift from Mycroft just after their wedding had been perfect. "Just because I have a stomach like a couple of car tyres does **not** mean-"

"Oh, is this what you're brooding over?" he asked, one brow raised wearily. He had quickly decided one child was more than enough. With Jessica's hormone levels, he wasn't sure he'd survive another pregnancy. "Your expanded waistline? Jessica, I never took you for a vain-"

"Let's have a bunch of brainless ninnies touching your stomach and cooing like it's a bloody puppy for hours on end, and see how you like it!" she snapped, applying some perfume to her wrist. "And I'm not vain. I've had a child, I know what happens."

Mycroft drew on years of diplomacy and patience, from years spent in government, and crossed the room to stand behind her, clasping her shoulders possessively.

"And you have never looked lovelier, darling," he murmured in her ear, stroking her hair tenderly. Jessica glared at him in the mirror, but there was no heat in her eyes.

"Smoothie."

"It's a gift," he chuckled, as she turned and pulled him down to her by his tie, kissing him gently. The kiss grew in intensity, in a way he hadn't experienced before…that night. It spiralled out of control, Jessica's yielding mouth and pleading hands in his hair and on his shoulder, making him forget the party, his plans for that new Bill in parliament…good Lord but she was dangerous. Were it not for his possessive feelings towards her, she could make any difficult government official or civil servant fall to his whims just by kissing them…

Mycroft managed to pull himself away from his wife's lips, only to find his fingers buried in her hair, and her lips bruised by his own. Her eyes glittered with lust and satisfaction, her warm breath panting against his mouth, her perfume rising with her lust, as his eyes narrowed and his own desire rose. "Are you trying to seduce me?" he asked coolly, feeling anything but. It was a common feeling with Jessica.

"Who said anything about trying?" she replied cheekily, already brushing her lips back across his. He smirked, as he dodged her lips and kissed her forehead instead, before straightening and grabbing his suit jacket from the bed.

"I'll be downstairs with the car. Do hurry up," he called as he left, idly musing that the old saying about looks and killing people they are directed at might just have some weight.

Jessica allowed herself a small smile, though, when she heard Mycroft's curse as his phone went off. Oh, revenge was so sweet when served cold.

He still hadn't worked how to change his ringtone back from Green Day's 'American Idiot'. It had made meetings with the American Ambassador extremely interesting, she was sure.

* * *

><p>When the night was over, and they were once more back in the Jaguar, Jessica slumped tiredly against the car seat. Her husband glanced at her from his phone, reading a text and rolling his eyes.<p>

"What is it this time?" she asked, wearily. "Did Letwin forget the difference between the office bin and the park bin again?"

"No," he sighed. "Boris Johnson has been…less than politically correct in an encounter with the Chinese Ambassador. Again."

The dividing screen between the front seat and the back went down a smidgeon.

"Sir, I've sent off the usual warning," 'Anthea' called back. "As well as arranging for a suitable consolation letter and gift to be sent to the Chinese Ambassador."

"Thank you, Anthea," Mycroft murmured, without looking up from his phone. Jessica almost felt sorry for her, at her boss's complete lack of gratitude for her work. She was good, Jessica gave her that, but she was just so…obvious, too obvious in her complete devotion. Mycroft preferred having to work to see it, to deduce it.

Without that challenge, he simply grew bored. He was more like his brother than he believed.

The dividing screen went back up, but not before 'Anthea' shot Jessica another look, making her smirk. She glanced at her husband, and poked him in the arm. He just looked at her questioningly.

"You could be nicer. Not many people just anticipate what you want them to do like she does," she murmured quietly. No need for 'Anthea' to think the boss's wife liked her. She didn't.

Mycroft chuckled. "Do mine ears deceive me? Are you actually feeling sorry for Anthea now?" he asked with a chuckle.

"Heaven forbid," she snorted.

"I'll make a deal with you," he suddenly offered. "I'll start being nicer to Anthea if you undo whatever you've done to my phone's ringtone."

"No chance," she laughed, that time. "I don't feel **that** sorry for her."

"Jessica, this is getting ridiculous," he sighed, looking at his phone as Money, Money, Money started playing. "Really? You personalised the Chancellor of the Exchequer's call alert with ABBA?"

"I thought it was appropriate," she sighed, holding back her laughter at his aggravated expression. She slipped her own phone out from her purse, as he took the call, talking low and quick into the speaker. She had her own eyes and ears within the Security Services and they were keeping her updated.

She felt her husband's frown as he finished his call while she checked her texts. Apparently some kind of cock-up with a mission in Korea, but Mycroft already knew about that, some gossip about the new Section Chief which might be useful…

Just then a hand clamped around her wrist, forcing the phone out of her hands. Outraged, she spun to face her husband, a patronising expression on his face as he held her Blackberry up.

"I told you to turn this off until after the child's born, Jessica," he said sternly, as she glared.

"As if I ever do what you tell me, _**dear**_!" she snapped, reaching for it. He slipped it into his pocket as she lunged at him, so she fell against him, stretched fully over his body.

His lips met hers, wiping the unimportant matter of her phone cleanly off her mind, as her hands fell to the nape of his neck, pulling herself closer against his heat as his hands slid into her open coat, one up her spine, pushing her into him, the other resting on the swell of her stomach.

"I told you," he growled when he pulled away, both gasping for air. "You were not to do any work, involve yourself at all until after you gave birth. You do not need stress at this stage."

"Mycroft-" she began, but his eyes had already fallen to the long, exposed column of her neck, and his lips pressed against her skin made her lose her train of thought. "I'm just…k-keeping…an eye on things!"

When he next met her eyes, he cocked an eyebrow sceptically. Their child suddenly kicked against his hand, and they both looked down at her rounded belly. Mycroft's face didn't change, his expression did not soften as some expectant fathers' might; if anything, the desire only grew when he raised his eyes to Jessica's.

"I will not allow anything to happen to you. _Either_ of you," he said, his eyes intense, his thumb stroking across her bottom lip, and down her neck.

"Nothing will," she replied, just as fiercely. "And checking updates on my phone isn't going to exacerbate my condition."

The intensity in his eyes didn't falter, but he looked thoughtful before a truly wicked smile grew. Jessica wanted to groan; she knew that rare smile.

"Then I propose an exchange. I will return your phone to you, and in return, you will undo this infernal trick of yours on my phone," he murmured, as Jessica sighed.

"Fine," she gave in, sullenly. He fished his phone out of his coat pocket and handed it to her, holding hers in his free hand. With a sigh, she took his phone and quickly set the ringtone back to normal before holding her hand out for her own. He handed it over, as she gave his back. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her back into his kiss, cutting off her amused chuckle with his lips, his hands roaming the body of his wife freely, as she moaned.

* * *

><p>When Jessica got out of the car, she felt like she was floating on air. One unfortunate side effect of pregnancy was an enhanced libido, something that was easily taken care of, especially with a husband like Mycroft Holmes. She saw her husband's supremely self-satisfied expression but ignored it, too sated to really care.<p>

They didn't speak as they entered the house, and Jessica wandered on to the study while Mycroft lingered in the hall, hanging up his overcoat.

The fire was lit in the grate, but it was the only source of light in the room, when she entered, her heels ringing on the polished parquet floors, but she felt a presence in the room behind her.

And it wasn't Mycroft.

_Don't allow your opponent to know you're onto him_.

It was amazing really, how easily she could conjure up her husband's voice in her mind. She went to the drinks cabinet, pulling out a bottle of Mycroft's preferred Scotch, and water for herself.

When she heard a footstep behind her, she whirled, her elbow lashing out and connecting with someone's head. Her assailant was taller than her, thin and lanky, with curly black hair, dressed in a fitted, grey coat. She followed up with an upper-cut to the jaw, making her assailant fall backwards, giving her enough time to pull a concealed pistol from its hiding place.

"Well hello to you too, Jessica," he grunted, making her freeze in shock. She knew that voice.

Mycroft burst in, his own pistol in his hand, as she backed towards him, still holding the pistol on her attacker…

Her brother-in-law.

Mycroft froze, as Sherlock raised his head, bleary-eyed and pale, panting for breath as blood poured from his nose.

"My, my you have been busy, brother dear," he coughed sarcastically, his eyes moving from the wedding ring on Jessica's finger to her swollen stomach. "Never knew you had it in you."

Mycroft's only response was a single word, cold and tense, his face white.

"Sherlock."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This will be a three shot, just so you know ;D**


	2. Chapter 2

Everybody's Fool

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><p>Silence reigned in the study as Mycroft and Jessica still stood, pistols aimed, in front of Sherlock as he winced and heaved himself up from the floor.<p>

"Well, brother dear, no hugging?" he asked sarcastically. "No tender, teary words of forgiveness and affection?"

Jessica glanced uneasily at Mycroft, noting how his jaw hardened with every word coming out of Sherlock's mouth.

"Well, this isn't like you, Mycroft," he scoffed, standing tall before them, wiping away blood from his split lip with a hand. "Cat got your tongue? About time. Pity it didn't happen earlier…"

Mycroft exhaled, his breath trembling as it left his lungs, and lowered his pistol. He took one step towards his brother, and for one wild moment Jessica thought he would embrace his miraculously resurrected little brother.

But no. These were the Holmes brothers after all.

* * *

><p>Mycroft's fist made an audible cracking sound as it impacted on Sherlock's jawline, the blow sending the younger man stumbling. A shocked silence descended, punctuated only by the harsh pants of the two brothers, while Jessica watched wide-eyed.<p>

It didn't last long.

Sherlock turned and delivered a blow of his own to Mycroft's immaculate face, sending him flying backwards.

"What the bloody hell was that for?" Sherlock demanded furiously as the elder Holmes shook himself and stood, while Jessica stared.

Mycroft laughed, a mirthless, cold chuckle as he rubbed his sore jaw. He had cuts on his own knuckles.

"Even you, Sherlock, even you cannot be so self-absorbed," he growled, making his brother blink. "You were dead, Sherlock. You made everyone, me, John, your landlady and everyone who has ever cared for you, believe you were dead!"

"Oh, has the guilt been too much, **brother**?" Sherlock scoffed. Jessica felt anger rise, as memories of that night rose with it, the night she had returned home from Hong Kong to find Mycroft, on the verge of collapse, his desperation, his grief…

She fired one shot in the air, the bullet hitting an old vase, a housewarming gift from an old aunt Mycroft hated, that was located just over Sherlock's shoulder on a shelf, making the two men wince.

"Darling, did you have to, really?" Mycroft asked with a sigh, as she glared at them both, and he collapsed into his favourite chair. "That was a gift."

"Which you hated, love. I'd say it's a win-win situation," she smiled tightly, her eyes on her brother-in-law as he sneered. But there was a slight trace of unease in his eyes which made the smile on Jessica's lips widen evilly.

"I would have thought Mycroft would have his pet bitch on a tighter leash," he said coldly, before he flinched as another gunshot echoed in the room. A line of red bloomed on his cheek, and he set his finger to it, staring at the blood on his fingertip disinterestedly.

"Careful, Sherlock. I'm hormonal," Jessica murmured coolly, lowering her pistol but continuing to glare at her husband's brother as Mycroft reached for her gun.

"My wife's aim is exceptional, Sherlock, so please refrain from any more insults," Mycroft sighed, seemingly back in control as Sherlock threw himself into a chair. Both he and Jessica noticed the way he dragged one leg, the wince he was unable to hide, the stiffness in his usual graceful movements. "So, you faked your own death. How, why and what are you doing here?"

* * *

><p>Sherlock eyed his brother, then chuckled. "I take it you reviewed the CCTV footage?"<p>

"I know Moriarty is dead," Mycroft replied tersely. Jessica watched both men closely, taking a seat on the arm of her husband's chair.

"I used Molly. She organised my transfer from the moment they picked me up off the pavement, ensured I was sent to ICU while another body was prepared in the morgue under my name. I had a member of my homeless network disorientate John so he could not detect my pulse by colliding with him on a bicycle . I calculated that a combination of grief and disorientation caused by a blow to the head would ensure John's inability to feel my pulse," he began to explain. "Before the meeting with Moriarty on St Barts rooftop, I distilled a vial of rhododendron ponticum, ingested it before I spoke to John on the phone…"

"Of course. The rhododendron ponticum would cause bradycardia and hypertension, causing you to lose consciousness and lower your pulse to almost undetectable levels, not least by a disorientated, grief-stricken doctor. And Miss Hooper would be on hand to provide adrenaline to raise your blood pressure. As for the fall, your unconscious state would ensure complete relaxation of the muscles, giving you a heightened chance of walking away from the fall with minor injuries," Mycroft breathed, his frown disappearing. "Brilliant but risky. The rhododendron might have caused permanent damage, Miss Hooper might have been too late with the adrenaline, and I can see you were injured. I rather suspect you should be on crutches but…"

"Dull." was the predictable reply, as something resembling an exasperated sigh left Mycroft's mouth.

"But why?" Jessica asked frostily. "Why did you fake your death? Apart from the rubbish in the newspapers…That could have been disproved, but there had to be something else to make you jump off of that roof after Moriarty killed himself."

Sherlock finally deigned to look at her, smirking slightly.

"She's moderately intelligent, I'll give her that," he muttered, as Jessica rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

"I'm flattered."

"You should be," Sherlock snapped back.

"Sherlock!" Mycroft shouted, grabbing the bickering pair's attention. He inhaled deeply, fighting for patience. "Why?" he asked harshly.

Sherlock leaned back in his chair, the firelight playing over the icy places of his face, the cut caused by Jessica's bullet and a lingering shadow of pain in his eyes and the tight set of his jaw.

"Moriarty needed my 'suicide' as the final nail in my coffin, the piece de resistance, if you will, of his plan for my fall. He also knew I would not do it without the right incentive. I assume you told John about the assassins who took up residence in Baker Street?" he paused, as Mycroft nodded. "Yes, well they were there for a purpose. They weren't there for the 'keycode', they were there at Moriarty's bidding. If I didn't jump, Moriarty had ordered them to assassinate John, Mrs Hudson and DI Lestrade. After Moriarty shot himself, the only remaining option to save them was to jump."

"Seeing you jump ensured their survival," Mycroft nodded. "But you anticipated his move."

"Yes. It was obvious that my death was Moriarty's aim," Sherlock replied.

"But why now?" the elder Holmes asked. "Why reveal your continued existence to me now?"

"You knew I was alive," Sherlock scoffed, rubbing his arm. Mycroft's eyes fixed on the movement for a moment, before he turned and gestured to a drawer.

"Nicotine patches, Jessica. Please," he murmured quietly. She glared, both at him and his brother, but fetched them anyway, throwing them at Sherlock's head. He caught them one-handed, eying his sister-in-law with dislike, before pulling up his jacket and shirt sleeves and slapping one on. "I ask you again, Sherlock. Why are you here?"

"Moriarty's organisation was huge. He has other agents out there, ones who will finish what he started if I reveal myself. I have to hunt them down before I can come home," he explained. "I miss my skull."

"You miss John," Jessica snorted. "No one to show off to when you're 'dead'."

"Tell her to shut up, Mycroft, she's making my ears ache," Sherlock sighed wearily.

"'She' has a name, unlike walking corpses," Jessica muttered.

"Enough!" Mycroft snapped. "You're both behaving like children. Sherlock, why come to me now?"

"Because your contacts and your…assistance might be useful," he growled, reluctantly. "Call it recompense for that little slip of the tongue with Moriarty."

Jessica glanced at Mycroft, seeing his knuckles whiten, the scrapes stark red against the white, and gently placed her hand on his arm.

"You may stay as long as you need, but no one may see you, if your cover is to remain intact. Jessica, if you would, show Sherlock to a room and fetch him a first aid kit," he said brusquely, before standing and leaving the room quickly. Jessica stared after him with a sigh.

* * *

><p>In silence, she led Sherlock up to a guest room, crossing to the dresser and rummaging in the drawer for the first aid kit she knew was in there. She turned back to see Sherlock in the doorway, the light from the hallway highlighting his frame almost like a halo.<p>

"Sit." she pointed to the bed, and closed the door. "Right, I have something to say to you."

"Oh please, Jessica I am breathless to hear it," Sherlock muttered sarcastically, taking the first aid box she had thrown on the bed beside him.

"You should be. Mycroft didn't know you were alive," she began, taking a deep breath when Sherlock snorted. "It's true. He didn't go to identify your body in the morgue, he didn't view the body at the funeral. He didn't even watch the CCTV footage from the rooftop at St Barts."

Sherlock frowned. "But then how did…?"

"**I** watched the CCTV footage, to tell him what happened. Mycroft…when I came home from assignment, he…" Jessica stumbled over her words. "With Moriarty, he made a mistake. Moriarty tricked him as well as you about the keycode. And the knowledge that his mistake led to your suicide…he lost you, Sherlock. He lost his brother. I don't know what pulled you two apart, but that doesn't mean he never cared."

"Well, if that sentimental drivel was all you stayed to say, then-" Sherlock muttered, but Jessica interrupted him angrily.

"You have absolutely no bloody clue, do you? For goodness sake, Sherlock, your brother was almost torn apart by the guilt he felt from betraying you. You know Mycroft, you know his dedication to duty. The one time he let his duty come before you, it killed you, or so he thought. He failed you, in his eyes, and it almost tore him apart. I know enough about your childhoods to know he was father, mother and brother to you, and that connection remained no matter how far you pushed him away. And then he made a mistake but he's only human, Sherlock. We all make mistakes, even the Holmes boys," she snapped, her hand falling to her stomach. Sherlock's eyes followed, and his frown only grew more pronounced.

"Why are you even having his child? He's not exactly loving father material," he asked, almost plaintively.

"How would you know? You never let him try," she muttered, turning away and leaving the guest room, and a very confused Sherlock, behind.

* * *

><p>When Jessica entered their bedroom, she found Mycroft staring out of their window, arms crossed and his face blank. Sighing, she pointed to the bed.<p>

"Sit."

"I am not a dog, Jessica, so please refrain from addressing me like one," he snapped back, as she went into the bathroom to fetch the first aid kit. He had cuts on his knuckles and one on his cheek from Sherlock's fist. "This is not necessary."

"It is bloody necessary, because I say it is," she retorted, throwing the small green box on the bed and walking over to her husband. She yanked him over to the bed by his tie and shoved him down, taking a perch beside him and popping the box open.

They sat in silence while Jessica worked, Mycroft occasionally wincing from the sting of the antiseptic.

"I take it you didn't offer any such assistance to my brother?" he finally said, watching her quick fingers as they dabbed at the small lacerations on his knuckles. One was cracked, or felt like it at any rate.

"No I did not," she replied tersely, as she finished his hand. "A couple of knuckles are probably fractured but there's nothing I can do except tell you not to use that hand until we see a doctor. Now, your face."

"OW!"

"Oh, did that hurt?" she asked mock-concernedly, as he glared at her while she dabbed at his cut cheek.

"Yes!" he snapped.

"Good!" she shot back. "Now stop being a baby and hold still. Nearly done."

She finished quickly, with only a few more winces from her wimp of a husband, and gathered up the used cloths and first aid box, transferring them to her bedside table.

"Nice right hook by the way. Never knew you had it in you," she continued, turning back to her husband, sat in the moonlight, watching her intently. She had found it quite sexy but she wasn't going to tell him that. The look in his eyes…she could have killed Sherlock for the damage he'd inflicted that night. An inch to the left and she would have succeeded where Moriarty and a fall from a fifth story building didn't.

Mycroft was close to losing it, for the second time in his life.

* * *

><p>Wordlessly, she went to him and kissed him, her hands gentle on his wounded cheek as he gathered her to him. She went willingly, to sate that hunger in his eyes, the pain resurrected by his brother's return.<p>

She didn't bother with any irksome platitudes about things being alright, Mycroft didn't need such drivel. She just loved him, soothed his pain with her body, freely and selflessly given. She understood the whirlwind of emotion he hid beneath his cold masks, the anguish and the anger which had broken free for one moment when he had struck his brother, which she encouraged him to let go with her, as they made love in their bed.

Jessica didn't tell him she loved him. He already knew that.

She didn't tell him that everything would be alright, because it probably wouldn't. But she would try her damn hardest to _**make**_ it alright, and no jumped up, insane, self-absorbed, exhibitionist, little pig of a brother was going to stand in her way.


	3. Chapter 3

Everybody's Fool

* * *

><p>Mycroft felt his little brother's eyes on him as he awoke.<p>

He rarely slept more than two hours a night, if that, even after sex. There was usually problems to be seen to, duties to attend to. Just because most of the population of Britain was asleep at four in the morning, didn't mean Mycroft and his people were.

The protector of a nation never slept.

Until Jessica's revelation about her pregnancy, she had been among those who worked inhumane hours beside Mycroft, but not anymore. He knew pregnancy put extra strain on the female body which merited as much rest as was required. He would not allow any harm, physical or emotional; to come to his wife and the child she bore.

Or rather children, but he hadn't shared that particular revelation yet. No need to burden Jessica with the knowledge she was carrying twins just yet.

* * *

><p>As he rose, gently sliding his arm off the swell of her stomach, where he habitually rested his hand for the few hours they slept, he felt the limits of his control reinforced, their strength restored by her wordless devotion, and he was grateful, so grateful for it, with the confrontation he knew would come, as he rose from their bed with his brother's eyes watching from the partially open bedroom door.<p>

No doubt Sherlock was confused by his brother's affection towards Jessica, since the most he knew about affection came from Mrs Hudson, John, that Adler woman and Mycroft himself, in his own restrained, slightly invasive way.

As he dressed, he supposed that if Sherlock's obsessive personality had fixed on a less…self-destructive woman, he might understand more; that obsession might have turned to something deeper but it never had the chance with someone like Irene Adler, a woman so determined to live life on her own terms and so desperate for power and control, she sold herself to acquire it, that for all her intelligence and allure, her death had been inevitable.

At least he had John, with his selfless loyalty and unswerving commitment to the man, that while platonic, was undying. In a way, he supposed Jessica was his John; a person so unstinting in what they gave of themselves, even their lives if necessary, that they were irreplaceable. Jessica had entered his life in a similar manner to that of Irene Adler into Sherlock's, but unlike Adler, she was there to stay. He could no more rid himself of her than tear out his own beating heart. She was a part of him now, and while the weakness was undoubtedly deplorable, he could imagine it no other way.

Jessica Holmes was his anchor when those pesky, hormone-induced emotions began to overwhelm him. She was a moral compass of a sort, although since her morals differed only slightly to his own that mattered little. She was his friend, his student, his protégé, his helpmate, his emotional nemesis, his obsession, his wife, and soon, she would be the mother of his children.

She was everything.

As he met his brother's cold, unflinching gaze outside his bedroom door, he felt a slight twinge of pity for his brother.

He had Jessica, but who did Sherlock have now? No one.

His ever-growing humanity had reduced him to the same state of isolation he'd had before John, before Lestrade and the Yard, before Mrs Hudson's warm kindnesses, in that time when the drugs ruled him and he pushed them all away, Mycroft, their mother, their father…

And now he was alone again.

* * *

><p>The thought remained in Mycroft's head as he led Sherlock back down to his study, settling in his chair without looking at his brother, waiting for the questions he knew would come.<p>

Sherlock stood beside him, staring at the flames in the still burning grate, arms crossed, brows puckered broodingly.

"You're in love with her," the statement, made in his brother's usual brusque baritone, was not a question but Mycroft clarified anyway, with a sigh.

"You and I both know the allure of a mind on a level with our own, Sherlock," he began, glancing at his wedding ring. "My 'love', if that is the word you wish to use, for Jessica stems from my respect for her intellect, her devotion to me and my work, her loyalty and-"

"The fact she beat you made her irresistible," Sherlock breathed. Mycroft glanced at him, annoyed by the mention of that humiliation, something Jessica loved to tease him with when she was feeling particularly cocky.

"A feeling I believe you have some experience of, brother," he replied coolly, satisfied when Sherlock's jaw tightened at the reference to the Adler woman. He sighed, idly remembering a time when this rivalry, this childish sniping, hadn't existed between them. "I care for her greatly, Sherlock, and yes, her little victory made her an intriguing puzzle, one I still have not quite unravelled."

He didn't tell Sherlock it had been her willing surrender that had bound her to him, in the end. She had beaten him, had got away with the memory stick and could have simply disappeared with everything she had gained, but she had not. She had surrendered her prize, helped him take Moriarty into custody and given herself willingly into his power, unknowingly wielding a power over Mycroft which was far greater than sexual desire or piqued intellectual curiosity.

What existed between Jessica and Mycroft might be termed love, but he thought that such a paltry term was inexcusable. It barely covered the whole of their relationship, and he was no mood to attempt an explanation for Sherlock's emotionally dense brain tonight.

He met Sherlock's darkling gaze steadily, until the younger man capitulated and sat down opposite his brother, lounging in the armchair like an insouciant feline.

"You said caring was not an advantage," he said, bluntly. Mycroft inclined his head.

"No, it is not, in most cases. It makes thing unnecessarily complicated and makes one vulnerable. But even we, dear brother, are not immune to its hold and I never claimed we were. Caring is what made you fake your death to protect your friends," he replied, as Sherlock glared at him.

"I know that," he snapped, then his face changed, becoming almost…vulnerable. "Would you have done differently, if it was Jessica's life in danger?"

Mycroft hesitated before the word dropped from his lips without another thought.

"No."

* * *

><p>Perhaps now was the time to attempt a bridging of the gap which had opened between them over the years. He found, oddly, that he wanted to repair that breach, and for other reasons than ones of necessity or national security. He wanted to, simply because Sherlock was his brother.<p>

He didn't want mistakes of the past to ruin their future. He wouldn't allow whatever silly rivalry that had prised the Holmes brothers apart to affect his own children, the heirs of their intellect and their legacy, and he genuinely wished to make reparation for his sins, as it were.

"I will do anything you ask of me, Sherlock," he murmured, causing his brother to look at him, strangely. He would do anything to restore Sherlock to his life, his rightful place in Baker Street, with John Watson, to close the book on that mistake and that dark period in their lives. To cleanse the guilt and the regret utterly.

For a moment, he thought Sherlock would sneer and turn away dismissively, but he nodded just once. "Thank you, brother."

Mycroft's jaw nearly dropped open in a spectacularly embarrassing fashion. Sherlock snickered.

"Do close your mouth, brother dear. Your resemblance to a frog is only growing by the minute," he muttered, making Mycroft shake his head ruefully. "Do you think we can do this?"

"Do try to be more specific, Sherlock," the elder Holmes sighed wearily.

"Being…brothers, and not enemies? Forgiving one another?"

"I never saw you as an enemy, Sherlock," Mycroft sighed. "You were my brother, you were mine to protect. I…care for you and for what it is worth, I am sorry for my indiscretion with Moriarty."

"He fooled me as well with the keycode," Sherlock admitted grudgingly. "And if our…feud had not got in the way, perhaps we could have taken Moriarty down together."

"Indeed. As it is, I will do all in my power to help you," Mycroft promised.

"You said I was yours to protect. _Was_: past tense. What's changed?" Sherlock asked. Mycroft smirked.

"You've got John to worry over you now. I'll leave the grey hairs to him," he replied. There came a sound from the bedroom, a door opening and closing, prompting both men to glance up.

Sherlock chuckled. "Have you told Jessica she's carrying twins yet?" he asked, curiously. His brother shook his head ruefully. "I don't envy you. Her aim with a gun is formidable."

"Also with pillows," the elder Holmes sighed, prompting a curious, amused glance from Sherlock. "Don't ask."

* * *

><p>They both heard Jessica's approach as she appeared in the doorway, swathed in a royal blue dressing gown, one Sherlock recognised as Mycroft's, and her hair tousled.<p>

"Are you two behaving or do I need to put you both on the naughty step?" she asked with a small grin as both men glanced at her in disgust.

"The naughty step?" Sherlock asked disbelievingly.

"Behaving! Hmmph!" Mycroft muttered under his breath, as Jessica laughed.

"Call it practice for when Junior here is born," she replied, easily but eying her husband and her brother-in-law with suspicion.

* * *

><p>Sherlock watched closely as Mycroft reached out and drew her to him, unselfconsciously kissing her hand. He noted the way Jessica's eyes softened as she looked down at her husband, her hand clinging to his. He remembered the way he had observed them before Mycroft had risen from their bed, Jessica lying encircled within his arms, held against his body, back against torso, as if he feared she would disappear. He remembered Jessica's words about Mycroft's emotional guilt, and realised quite how little say in the matter of emotions Mycroft possessed, just as he did.<p>

It was disgustingly sentimental.

"I do believe we're making Sherlock uncomfortable," Jessica suddenly crowed, jerking him from his thoughts. His eyes noted his sister-in-law's heightened colour and breathing, and rolled his eyes. Really, if one kiss on the hand could do that to her, then Mycroft deserved the shrew.

"Oh please, continue with your ridiculous marital rituals," he waved at her dismissively, as she just smirked.

"I didn't see you complaining when you were watching us sleep earlier," she retorted, making both men still and stare at her, one with admiration, the other with horror.

Mycroft chuckled. "Now you see why I married her, Sherlock."

"Indeed," he sighed, as Jessica grinned evilly.

"You should go back to bed, Jessica," Mycroft murmured. "You need your rest."

"Mycroft, what did we say about mollycoddling me?" she sighed exasperatedly. "How many pregnant mothers do you know that could have you on your back in less than ten seconds?-"

"Please, I don't need to know about your sexual proclivities," Sherlock groaned, closing his eyes as his too-quick brain summoned up a horrifying mental image.

"-let alone disable a man nearly a foot taller than her and gain the upper hand? Do I look like I need rest?" Jessica continued, eying Mycroft like he was a particularly annoying, slow-witted child. Sherlock almost felt sorry for his brother.

Mycroft sighed, rolled his eyes and glanced at Sherlock. "Do excuse me a moment brother," he sighed, before tugging Jessica down and kissing her heatedly. Sherlock gaped in shocked disgust before snapping his eyes shut. He did **NOT** need to see that!

"Fine, fine I'm going," Jessica finally grumbled, a touch breathlessly, making Sherlock shudder as he opened his eyes. A disgruntled, but clearly aroused, Jessica glared at him as she left her husband's lap before grinning wickedly and kissing Mycroft again, a short, passionate kiss that ended as quickly as she instigated it. She smirked at Sherlock as she left, reaching out a hand to ruffle his hair, making him scowl and lean away from her, while she chuckled. "Now behave, boys, or I will handcuff you together until you learn to converse nicely."

Sherlock was tempted to come up with some pithy retort but she was gone before his brain could think of one, and he glanced at his brother, hair ruffled, lips parted and swollen and eyes twinkling, with incredulity.

"Where did you find that one?" he asked, shaking his head. Mycroft chuckled, glancing at his wedding ring one last time.

"I didn't. She found me."

_**The End…for now**_


End file.
